Queen Esther Cleans for Pesach

Something was missing, which turned out to be myself

I knew from the start that the title of this would be, "Queen Esther Cleans for Pesach," but the story's execution was giving me trouble. No matter how I kept plugging away, the parts weren't coming together. I had the beginning, I had the end. I knew what I wanted to say. But something was missing, which turned out to be myself.

Purim was over and I wanted to get the story down in black and white before starting to clean. So I rescheduled an upcoming dentist appointment until after Pesach -- poor teeth, they'd just have to wait (not that they'd consider it a sacrifice) -- and that Monday morning at 9 a.m., was ensconced with my laptop in my favorite corner of a Jerusalem coffee-shop. With whipped cream and cappuccino, and with my back to the world, all the usual background noise would keep me from getting restless.

The article, at that point, read as follows:

As anyone who has ever cleaned for Pesach can testify, the three or four weeks leading up to the Seder Night provide us with myriad opportunities for losing our tempers, if not our minds. What is it about this season's particular combination of perfectionist cleaning, spiritual aspirations, and overwhelming exhaustion that can turn us simultaneously into downtrodden slaves, like our ancestors in Egypt, and hard-hearted taskmasters, not unlike Pharaoh? The Ten Days of Repentance before Yom Kippur may well be Judaism's traditional time for self-examination, but for some truly riveting encounters with our own worst selves, and greatly expanded powers for making everyone in the family miserable, the days before Pesach take the cake.

Chametz seemed inappropriate here. I deleted the cake and continued on.

But unlike our forbears in Egypt, whose suffering was painfully intensified by the fact that they themselves didn't benefit from anything they accomplished, we in our times celebrate this Festival of Freedom in our own Jewish homes.

Cleaning for Pesach without losing one's temper can involve a real kind of heroism.

The point I wanted to make eventually was that cleaning for Pesach without losing one's temper can involve a real kind of heroism, not unlike Queen Esther's. But I was finding it hard to bring it all together.

We humans feel stirred by heroism, and like seeing evidence of it in ourselves and others. While we may react with envy to the successes and accomplishments of our fellow man, our involuntary response when it comes to heroism is – more often than not – to take a personal kind of pride in the other one's deed. We ourselves feel ennobled by it, as if his astounding act of kindness, or selflessness, or generosity, his purity of spirit, his dignity in the face of insult, his idealism, his brav--

My cell-phone rang.

It was Lily, a close friend of mine from Manhattan who had moved to Israel in the 1990s. A profoundly gentle, dignified, wise, discrete, sensitive, insightful person, single and in her mid-fifties and loved deeply by her friends, Lily was in remission at the time from a life-threatening illness. "Can I ask you something?" she said hesitantly. "Where are you now?"

"In a coffee shop."

"Oh. Look. Please be honest...tell me if you can't..." She explained that something had come up with her immigration and she was getting a little overwhelmed. She needed help with some paperwork. It had to be someone who lived here and was familiar with this country, and she had to get it done right away. She'd tried everyone she could think of who didn't work in the morning, but they were all either unavailable or hadn't answered their phones. "I hate to bother you," she said. "But the woman in the office there --" Was that Lily's voice breaking? -- "told me to get it back to them by 5 or they might not be able to process my American social security in time for April."

Lily had always refrained, more than most people, from imposing on others. In our 15 years of friendship, it was the first time I could recall her asking me for a favor. My initial reaction was of course, come right now. Then I started thinking about the cleaning I really should have been doing at home...and the dentist appointment I'd canceled, all so I could get this story finished. I have no way of knowing what my tone of voice was but I said, "Yes, of course."

"Really? It's okay?"

"Yes."

Then she said that when I got there, I should buzz her on the intercom and she'd come down and let me in.

I was taken aback. This was not what I expected. Would it be responsible of me or irresponsible, an act of self-respect or of selfishness, to ask her now to come to me, instead? My conscience instructed, Be to all as the dust, but America whispered in my ear: That's going too far, it's unnecessary. Respect yourself. You can be a helpful friend without ignoring your own needs. I said, "Lily, do you think maybe you can come here, to the coffee shop?"

A moment of silence, then: "Where are you, darling?"

"Never mind!" I blurted out, having distinctly heard in her voice that this was somehow problematic. "I'll come to you!" But going there was problematic for me. Wasn't that also legitimate? I hoped she'd say no, she would come here.

"No, no, it's okay," she told me. "I'll come to you. Why should you come all the way over here? Tell me where you are. I just have to get ready."

We hung up and I figured I had about a half-hour to get something done until she arrived. Back to the screen:

We humans feel stirred by heroism, and like seeing it in ourselves and others. While we may react with envy to the successes and accomplishments of our fellow man, our involuntary response when it comes to heroism is – more often than not – to take a personal kind of pride in the other one's deed. We ourselves feel ennobled by it. It's as if his astounding act of kindness, or selflessness, or generosity, his purity of spirit, his dignity in the face of insult, his idealism, his bravery, were revealing something about us, and it's thrilling. It serves as evidence of higher things in the outer reaches of our own human nature, which -- like stars on a sunny day – usually remain invisible in the course of our daily lives.

Daily life – the term refers almost by definition to a humdrum business. When it's not dark you don't need stars. When there's no great conflict to speak of and things are basically going along as you'd expect, there doesn't seem to be anything that great to overcome.

But if you're walking along a beach one day and hear a drowning child's cries, the hero within may come suddenly to life and before you know it, you're leaping into the sea.

Had the emergency not been sent your way – and this conflict of interest never arisen – your capacity for heroism might never have become visible. If the crisis had occurred but you'd simply not noticed, you would have missed your chance.

With a fleeting gesture of self-erasure, you've transcended in an instant the imprisoning self-image of a lifetime.

You, too, can soar.

I liked that last line. Any flight (other than the kind that requires getting into an airplane) appeals to me. All that remained was to explain the connection between the various themes. Once again I began searching for words to convey that it's precisely in erev Pesach's capacity to bring out the worst in us that its power to liberate us lies; that it's precisely when our goodwill and energy are at a low ebb that we can most benefit by going against the grain and behaving with dignity. Such opportunities to build ourselves are thrown our way day after day, constantly, all year long, but during the weeks leading up to Pesach, daily life is rich with them, and they're more noticeable.

The unique manner in which this season tests our behavior towards others is precisely that which makes it the year's supreme chance to grow spiritually in leaps and bounds. We can participate in Queen Esther's rescue of her people on the miniature stage of our individual private lives, with the family and friends with whom we're ordained to interact.

If, under erev Pesach's intense emotional and physical pressure, we still strive to be scrupulously careful with the honor of our fellow men – to treat those in our family as we would our friends, and our friends as if they were family -- then the external process will be an internal one, too, and by the time our cleaning is done, it will be not only the closets that are in order but our minds, not only the windows that are clear but our conscience, not only the rooms that seem full of light but our hearts...not only the kitchens that have been "turned over" but ourselves.

There's an old saying: you can have home improvement or self-improvement – you can't have both. In the tension-filled interlude before Pesach, however, the two are potentially one and the same. All the mundane practical details of daily life can serve as spiritual instruments of the highest order. If we have borne in mind the idea – while sentenced to four weeks at hard labor -- that it's not only our arrival at the destination (of a clean house) which matters but who we become in the process...if we have tried to remember that the goal is to be as flat and humble as matzah – which means rising higher by lowering ourselves... then when we sit down at the Seder table with Hagadahs in hand, our joy will be in exact proportion to the difficulties we have experienced along the way to this moment. Transcending our small, limited egos will have been at least as high a priority for us as organizing the closets.

We will have crossed the desert, and reached the Promised Land.

* * *

I looked at my watch. More than an hour had passed. Hey! Where's Lily?

I was hit by foreboding.

I dialed her number. No answer. I dialed her cell-phone. The voicemail came on. I left a message to please call right away, I was waiting.

Five minutes went by. Ten. I tried both numbers. I kept trying, and was dialing again when my eyes alighted upon the computer screen.

If you're walking along a beach one day and hear a drowning child's cries...

From the screen my words were staring at me, glaring at me. They slapped my face.

Something dawned on me.

...the hero within may come suddenly to life and before you know it, you're leaping into the sea.

Shame and repugnance rose up in me sharply. I kept dialing. No answer. From the screen my words were staring at me, glaring at me. They slapped my face. The minutes piled up. I called Rabbi S., told him everything. "What should I do?"

"Go," he said.

"Even though she's not answering at home? Maybe it'll just be a waste of ti—"

"Go."

I rushed out to the street. My computer backpack weighed me down. There were no taxis. The ones that passed were occupied, and besides, traffic here was one-way, the wrong way. I started running. Running, running. Trying to shed the weight of my self-contempt.

My hypocrisy was staggering.

So easy to talk about what's right. Just doing it that's difficult.

Running, running. I could delete this story. But if she wasn't home, how would I escape myself?

* * *

Buzzed on the intercom. Buzzed again. Again. I knocked on the glass door. Knocked again.

Out on the sidewalk next to her building, back in the sun, I started begging. Please, God. Please. Let me find her.

Far off down the sidewalk, a little walking figure appeared, receding in the opposite direction. It was going farther away, getting smaller, and something about it brought Lily to mind. I started running. Could it be?

Coming up from behind, I wasn't sure -- the frail woman was so bent-over – but called out, "Lily?"

She turned slowly and at first I couldn't recognize her. Her face was ashen-grey, her eyes swollen and red. She'd been crying.

"Why didn't you come to the coffee shop?" I was out of breath.

"Oh, it's ok, mammele. I was too -- It was too much for me to go to you so I found one of the neighbors and she helped me instead and I'm just on my way back now to that office. I'm sorry I didn't call to tell you. I wasn't thinking. I just --" She looked as if she were on the verge of collapse.

She delivered the document, then we went out to eat together, which appeared to revive her somewhat, and soothed my conscience.

So...that's how the story ends, though this is the second erev Pesach that has come and gone since our hour together at a restaurant downtown, and it's only now that I finished writing it up. Lily's faint, sweetly strained smile and startlingly gaunt appearance across from me at a lunch table are recorded in memory, and she died of her illness not long thereafter, but it wasn't something I particularly wanted to write about, or even recall: how I did jump into the sea that day, but was a little late, and only saved myself.

Visitor Comments: 18

(18)
Anonymous,
April 27, 2009 4:28 AM

Thank you for sharing, touched my heart! Rather sobering.

(17)
devora streicher,
April 3, 2009 8:28 AM

grab opportunities when you can

wanted to share somethig relating to the concept of not missing out on an opportunity when it arises. one late friday afternoon my daughter asked me to drive her to my parents home for shabbos . Their home was half hour driving time from my neighborhood. i made a decision to go for it, even though with traffic it was cutting it close. i jumped in the car, arrived to my parents home, said good shabbos and left. i made it home just in time to light candles. it was the lsst time i hugged my father. he died two weeks later from an aneurism.

(16)
Deena,
April 2, 2009 10:58 AM

So human

This is so human. The constant inner conflicts and trying to figure out what's right, and to do it. Thanks for sharing something so personal.

(15)
Anonymous,
April 2, 2009 1:20 AM

Wow, this story incorporates every thing you have been saying about Pesach
and I cried a little at the end. When you have time you should give it a
read.
All My Love,

(14)
miriam greenwald,
April 1, 2009 1:06 AM

this beautiful article must surely cause an inner pang in all who read it...and encourage us not to ever again ignore that little voice within when things like this come our way.

(13)
elisheva,
March 31, 2009 8:45 PM

Amazing! I hurt from experiencing Sarah's
essay. She is mixing mediums. I feel as though I have witnessed poetry mixed with
film making all from the realness and
complexity of her writing. Thank-you.

(12)
Michal,
March 30, 2009 10:16 AM

WOW

Wow. What a lesson. Thank you for that! I hope and pray I will remember this essay when I am in the same situation- and who doesn''t have these situations?... Thank you for giving me that insight and being so honest!

(11)
Yochana,
March 30, 2009 8:15 AM

honest, beautiful

im sorry for your loss, but youre a great person for even trying to help your friend - most people are too selfish.
<3

(10)
Anonymous,
March 30, 2009 3:38 AM

Classic Sarah Shapiro

Thank you for the honesty. It is what makes your writing refreshing and uniquely yours.

(9)
Chana Jenny Weisberg,
March 30, 2009 1:35 AM

true

Like everything Sara Shapiro writes, this story is so painfully, incredibly, exquisitely true.I am eternally grateful to Sara for always telling it like it IS.

(8)
Bassi Gruen,
March 29, 2009 4:30 PM

Powerful in it's honesty

Thank you for sharing this powerful story - remarkable in its honesty, poignant in its truth.

(7)
Gitty Landman,
March 29, 2009 4:10 PM

Honesty

Thank you for being so honest. It will make the rest of us be able to accept our humanity instead of feeling like crumbs (pun intended) comparing ourselves to saints written in books. Chag Kasher V'Sameach!

(6)
Klara LeVine,
March 29, 2009 3:09 PM

Lily loved you

At last a story I know must have many more parts to it - Lily loved you and I know that came from so many many seas you jumped into for her, most especially the last one.

(5)
Sara Yoheved Rigler,
March 29, 2009 1:15 PM

What a powerful story!

I kept nodding to the point you were making, about how Pesach cleaning poses challenges that have the potential to uplift us (or flatten us to humility like a matzah). Today, one of my paid helpers broke a plate from my wedding china, and only my son standing next to me whispering, "It's from Hashem," kept me from losing my cool. I was not, however, prepared for the powerful ending of the story. You took your worthy lesson and imprinted it so deeply that I hope it'll get me through the rest of my cleaning.

(4)
Miriam Adahan,
March 29, 2009 10:37 AM

Thank you for your honesty! A friend in her 40s recently had a stroke and I've been asked to find a 2-hour slot to help and I do not want to go....and now I will go.

(3)
Anonymous,
March 29, 2009 10:13 AM

Painful

Painful story. I'm sure it wasn't easy for you to share it. Your courage lies in sharing it, and hoping that we will learn.

(2)
Tammar Hanon,
March 29, 2009 9:16 AM

True Heroism

Your true heroism lies in recognizing your test, passing it, and sharing it with us. Just like Queen Esther. Thank you, and have a wonderful Pesach!

(1)
Bracha Goetz,
March 29, 2009 8:35 AM

thank you

This was an awesome honest story! We can all relate and learn from it!

I'm told that it's a mitzvah to become intoxicated on Purim. This puzzles me, because to my understanding, it is not considered a good thing to become intoxicated, period.

One of the characteristics of the at-risk youth is their use of drugs, including alcohol. In my experience, getting drunk doesn't reveal secrets. It makes people act stupid and irresponsible, doing things they would never do if they were sober. Also, I know a lot about the horrible health effects of abusing alcohol, because I work at a research center that focuses on addiction and substance abuse.

Also, I am an alcoholic, which means that if I drink, very bad things happen. I have not had a drink in 22 years, and I have no intention of starting now. Surely there must be instances where a person is excused from the obligation to drink. I don't see how Judaism could ever promote the idea of getting drunk. It just doesn't seem right.

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Putting aside for a moment all the spiritual and philosophical reasons for getting drunk on Purim, this remains an issue of common sense. Of course, teenagers should be warned of the dangers of acute alcohol ingestion. Of course, nobody should drink and drive. Of course, nobody should become so drunk to the point of negligence in performing mitzvot. And of course, a recovering alcoholic should not partake of alcohol on Purim.

Indeed, the Code of Jewish Law explicitly says that if one suspects the drinking may affect him negatively, then he should NOT drink.

Getting drunk on Purim is actually one of the most difficult mitzvot to do correctly. A person should only drink if it will lead to positive spiritual results - e.g. under the loosening affect of the alcohol, greater awareness will surface of the love for God and Torah found deep in the heart. (Perhaps if we were on a higher spiritual level, we wouldn't need to get drunk!)

Yet the Talmud still speaks of an obligation on Purim of "not knowing the difference between Blessed is Mordechai and Cursed is Haman." How then should a person who doesn't drink get the point of “not knowing”? Simple - just go to sleep! (Rama - OC 695:2)

All this applies to individuals. But the question remains - does drinking on Purim adversely affect the collective social health of the Jewish community?

The aversion to alcoholism is engrained into Jewish consciousness from a number of Biblical and Talmudic sources. There are the rebuking words of prophets - Isaiah 28:1, Hosea 3:1 with Rashi, and Amos 6:6, and the Zohar says that "The wicked stray after wine" (Midrash Ne'alam Parshat Vayera).

It is well known that the rate of alcoholism among Jews has historically been very low. Numerous medical, psychological and sociological studies have confirmed this. The connection between Judaism and sobriety is so evident, that the following conversation is reported by Lawrence Kelemen in "Permission to Receive":

When Dr. Mark Keller, editor of the Quarterly Journal of Studies on Alcohol, commented that "practically all Jews do drink, and yet all the world knows that Jews hardly ever become alcoholics," his colleague, Dr. Howard Haggard, director of Yale's Laboratory of Applied Physiology, jokingly proposed converting alcoholics to the Jewish religion in order to immerse them in a culture with healthy attitudes toward drinking!

Perhaps we could suggest that it is precisely because of the use of alcohol in traditional ceremonies (Kiddush, Bris, Purim, etc.), that Jews experience such low rates of alcoholism. This ceremonial usage may actually act like an inoculation - i.e. injecting a safe amount that keeps the disease away.

Of course, as we said earlier, all this needs to be monitored with good common sense. Yet in my personal experience - having been in the company of Torah scholars who were totally drunk on Purim - they acted with extreme gentleness and joy. Amid the Jewish songs and beautiful words of Torah, every year the event is, for me, very special.

Adar 12 marks the dedication of Herod's renovations on the second Holy Temple in Jerusalem in 11 BCE. Herod was king of Judea in the first century BCE who constructed grand projects like the fortresses at Masada and Herodium, the city of Caesarea, and fortifications around the old city of Jerusalem. The most ambitious of Herod's projects was the re-building of the Temple, which was in disrepair after standing over 300 years. Herod's renovations included a huge man-made platform that remains today the largest man-made platform in the world. It took 10,000 men 10 years just to build the retaining walls around the Temple Mount; the Western Wall that we know today is part of that retaining wall. The Temple itself was a phenomenal site, covered in gold and marble. As the Talmud says, "He who has not seen Herod's building, has never in his life seen a truly grand building."

Some people gauge the value of themselves by what they own. But in reality, the entire concept of ownership of possessions is based on an illusion. When you obtain a material object, it does not become part of you. Ownership is merely your right to use specific objects whenever you wish.

How unfortunate is the person who has an ambition to cleave to something impossible to cleave to! Such a person will not obtain what he desires and will experience suffering.

Fortunate is the person whose ambition it is to acquire personal growth that is independent of external factors. Such a person will lead a happy and rewarding life.

With exercising patience you could have saved yourself 400 zuzim (Berachos 20a).

This Talmudic proverb arose from a case where someone was fined 400 zuzim because he acted in undue haste and insulted some one.

I was once pulling into a parking lot. Since I was a bit late for an important appointment, I was terribly annoyed that the lead car in the procession was creeping at a snail's pace. The driver immediately in front of me was showing his impatience by sounding his horn. In my aggravation, I wanted to join him, but I saw no real purpose in adding to the cacophony.

When the lead driver finally pulled into a parking space, I saw a wheelchair symbol on his rear license plate. He was handicapped and was obviously in need of the nearest parking space. I felt bad that I had harbored such hostile feelings about him, but was gratified that I had not sounded my horn, because then I would really have felt guilty for my lack of consideration.

This incident has helped me to delay my reactions to other frustrating situations until I have more time to evaluate all the circumstances. My motives do not stem from lofty principles, but from my desire to avoid having to feel guilt and remorse for having been foolish or inconsiderate.

Today I shall...

try to withhold impulsive reaction, bearing in mind that a hasty act performed without full knowledge of all the circumstances may cause me much distress.

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